Force of Will
by Minerva Aemilius
Summary: A single romance, at the right point in time, could have changed history. An AU story of what should have happened during the Ishvalan War. Royai. Rated T for violent action sequences.
1. Waystation

I do not own the copyright to Fullmetal Alchemist.

This is an alternate universe story that considers what could have happened if Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye had been romantically involved before Roy went to Ishval, and how their lives might have been different as a result.

It takes place before the series starts, but parallels the flashbacks in Episode 30 (Brotherhood anime) and Chapters 58-61 (manga), and contains spoilers for them.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1: Waystation<span>

The latest group of casualties had come in. Dr. Sara Rockbell tucked her long blonde hair into a ponytail and got to work.

She and her husband Urey had set up their clinic in an abandoned warehouse, a relic of an old trading route, in a pocket of scrub forest on the western edge of the Ishval desert. Since then, Ishvalan wounded had trickled in steadily from the war zone to the east. The language barrier made it difficult for the doctors to find out exactly what was happening, but it was clear from the injuries they were treating that the war between the Amestrian military and the Ishvalan rebels was a brutal one. The bits and pieces they were able to communicate through the two Ishvalan boys who worked as their assistants confirmed that fact.

Today's casualties were not as serious, just a border town skirmish far from the main conflict, which had caught a few civilians in the crossfire. Most of the injuries were broken bones caused by a military vehicle that had lost control and driven into an outdoor market. Sara and Urey, each in a makeshift exam room blocked off with sheets, divided the patients between them.

Sara was surprised to see an Amestrian girl among the Ishvalans. No, not really a girl; a young woman of maybe 20. She was a bit of a tomboy, with short blonde hair, dressed in a pullover sweater and pants. She appeared to have three broken ribs on her left side, but Sara was having trouble treating her because she did not want to take her sweater off.

Was it modesty? No, something else. She was genuinely nervous. "If I do this, will you give me your word not to tell anyone what you've seen?" she asked quietly. Her brown eyes were earnest, serious. "I give you my word," said Sara. "I'm a doctor. I took an oath to respect my patients' privacy." The girl swallowed and nodded, and gingerly began to pull up her sweater. Sara helped her remove it.

It wasn't difficult to tell what she'd been hiding. Her back was almost entirely covered with a large, intricate tattoo, an alchemy design of some kind. The amount of needlework it must have taken to imprint that image, what a long and painful process it must have been…Sara knew she shouldn't ask any questions, but her curiosity got the better of her. "You're an alchemist?" she asked as she began taping up the broken ribs.

"My father was. I didn't inherit his ability." Her voice held no emotion.

So the father had done this to his daughter…for what possible purpose? Sara didn't ask any more questions. Alchemists! The only one she had ever known personally, a neighbor in her hometown, had deserted his wife and two young sons. Were they all such terrible fathers?

She finished her work, and carefully helped the girl put her sweater back on. "These are going to take several weeks to heal completely. You can move around if you're careful, but you should rest as much as possible." She led her over to a cot and helped her lay down.

The broken ribs must have been very painful, but throughout the whole process, the girl hadn't flinched once. _She__'__s __used__ to__ pain_, Sara thought sadly. "What's your name?" she asked. "Riza," the girl answered.

There was some commotion in the clinic's waiting area. "Dr. Rockbell," a man's voice was saying, "the military has given you more than enough time. Your activities here must cease immediately."

Sara hurried out into the waiting area, joining her husband, who was being addressed by two soldiers. Their guns were on prominent display: rifles slung over their backs, pistols in holsters on their hips. A silent show of force. "This is a civilian medical operation," Urey replied indignantly. "We're Amestrian citizens. The military has no right to interfere. You can threaten us as much as you like, but we're still not going anywhere."

This had become a weekly routine. The soldiers blustered, the doctors refused to back down, and the soldiers left. But the presence of the military always upset the Ishvalan patients, most of whom had suffered injuries at the hands of men just like these.

"You are providing aid and comfort to the enemy," continued the one who had been speaking, a captain. He spoke with the air of a man who was following orders; how willingly, Sara could not guess. "The military's tolerance will not continue indefinitely. We cannot guarantee your safety if you remain." He turned and walked out of the clinic, his partner following after him.

"Here we go again," Sara chuckled ruefully, and reached up to brush a lock of light brown hair out of Urey's eyes. He grinned at her. "Our life as outlaws," he said, and kissed her forehead. She suspected that he was as worried about the military's threats as she was, but neither wanted to admit it.

"Hey, is that your patient?" asked Urey, looking over her shoulder. Sara turned in time to see the blonde girl—Riza—hurrying out the door. "Hey!" called Sara, following her outside. "You're supposed to be resting!"

Riza paid her no attention. "Wait!" she called to the soldiers. "Are you heading to the Ishvalan front?" The captain turned and nodded, surprised at the question.

"Will you take me with you?" she asked.

"Of course not!" he bristled. "We can't take a civilian to the front!"

"Then can you deliver a message?"

"Um—I suppose so." He seemed taken aback by the whole exchange. "Who's it for?"

"Major Roy Mustang. He's a State Alchemist." The soldier stared at her. "Do you know him?" she asked.

"I know _of_ him," the captain said carefully. "Everyone does. What's your message?"

"Tell him that Riza Hawkeye is coming to find him. He'll know who I am." She aimed a determined gaze at him, as if daring him not to believe her.

The captain nodded slowly. "All right," he said. "I'll pass on your message." He and the other soldier climbed into their truck and pulled away, scattering gravel under their wheels as they drove off.

"Riza," said Sara sharply. "You need to come back to bed now." The girl turned back toward her, looking suddenly older, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her eyes and mouth. "I'm sorry," she said. "It was important."

Sara knew she shouldn't ask any more questions, but once again curiosity overtook her. "So, you know this State Alchemist person?" she asked as she guided her patient back into the clinic.

"He's my boyfriend," said Riza. She ran her fingers through her short hair. "Something's happened to him. I need to find him."

The Ishvalan patients were still upset after the visit from the military, and the words "State Alchemist" had made a few sit up and take particular notice. They had seen Riza talking with the soldiers, and now some of them were beginning to whisper and glare in a way that made Sara nervous. She steered the girl toward a cot in the farthest corner of the clinic, away from the other patients. Riza sat down wearily.

"You can't really be serious about travelling to the front," said Sara.

"I am." Her voice was determined. She looked up at Sara, and her eyes were those of a girl who had endured a thousand jabs of a needle, who bore broken bones without flinching. "I am going to find him. No matter what."


	2. The Homefront

Chapter 2: The Homefront

Lying on her cot, Riza was grateful to be left alone. She put up a brave facade, but in truth, she was exhausted, hurting, and more than a little frightened. The pain from her broken ribs knifed her with every breath. And she was no closer to the Ishvalan front. _I__'__m__ losing __time_, she thought anxiously.

She closed her eyes, and the tears that she had been suppressing through force of will began spilling down her cheeks. Slowly, she took in the deepest breath she could manage, and thought of Roy.

He had been her father's alchemy student, three years older than her. Their relationship had begun shortly after her father died. They'd had eight wonderful months together while Roy finished his studies at the Central City Military Academy. But after graduation, he had been sent east to fight in the Ishvalan War.

In his letters, he had been careful not to burden her with descriptions of the violence he had seen, and surely participated in, even when she had asked. He had spoken only of the desert heat, the endless boredom, the drudgery of his military duties, and how much he missed her. She had once thought about joining the military herself, early on, but his letters had changed her mind. It all sounded so miserable, so pointless.

The last time she had seen him was six months ago, when he had come back to Central City for the State Alchemist exam. They had both been overjoyed when he passed. He'd hoped that with his certification, he would be able to leave Ishval, maybe even get a posting in Central, so they could be together again. They had celebrated—how naïve that seemed now. In the end, the military had sent him right back to the war.

After that, his letters began to change. He still never talked about specifics. But he began to question the purpose, and the morality, of the actions the military was taking. His writing became rambling, almost incoherent at times. In her letters back to him, she begged him to tell her what was happening, but he never did. Then ten days ago, in his last letter, he had abruptly broken off their relationship.

That was when she had set out to find him. Her money had afforded her a train ticket as far as Resembool. She had continued to head east, hitchhiking with locals whenever she could, walking when she couldn't. Until this morning, when she found herself standing in the wrong part of a market as a military truck came crashing through.

She should stay here awhile and rest. The clinic offered a roof, a warm place to sleep, and hot meals, which was more than she'd had during the last week. And she was injured. But she needed to get to the front.

It had been a long shot asking the soldiers to take her there, and she hadn't expected it to work. But if the military came by regularly to harass the clinic, maybe she could sneak into one of their vehicles. (Risky and dumb, she knew, but that wouldn't necessarily stop her.) There were also supply trucks; the clinic must get food and medicine from someone, and maybe those people also supplied the military. Or could take her to someone who did. She would find some way.

She felt herself drifting into sleep. Her last clear thought was: _Why__ is __the__ military __threatening__ civilian__ doctors?_ It was as if the whole world had gone mad.

Sometime later, she was dimly aware of a voice nearby. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw a man's figure standing at the foot of her cot, and she knew in an instant that she had traveled far enough.

She sat up, and the stabbing pain in her side assured her that it wasn't a dream. The man before her was thinner and paler than she remembered. His cheeks were hollow, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his uniform and black hair were covered with a fine layer of sand. But it was unmistakably Roy.


	3. Orders

Chapter 3: Orders

"Why are you here, Riza?" Roy demanded hoarsely, staring at her. His face was a mask, hard and cold. "I told you I didn't want to see you anymore."

"No, you didn't tell me that," she said evenly, returning his stare with a level gaze. She remembered every word of that terrible letter. "You said you couldn't see me anymore. You said I shouldn't try to contact you, and that I should I forget you, for my own good. But the one thing you never said was that you didn't _want_ to see me again."

"Then I'm telling you now. I don't want to see you." His voice was cold, his jaw clenched.

"You're lying." Her gaze never wavered. "If that were true, you wouldn't be here."

The mask began to slip.

He still stared, but now a faraway sadness had crept into his eyes. "You don't understand," he said quietly. "The things I've done…you don't know." He looked away, avoided her gaze.

"Then tell me, dammit! Tell me what's happened. Please," she pleaded.

He stared at her again for a long moment, his forehead creased, his eyes looking very far away. He nodded slowly, and finally sank down on the foot of the cot. She moved over, slowly and painfully, until she was sitting next to him. He sat with his head bowed, staring at his hands, not looking at her.

"I've been using flame alchemy," he said. "To kill people."

He had never told her that, but she had known it must be happening. It was war, after all. "You're a soldier," she said softly. "I'm sure it can't be helped."

"Not just enemy soldiers." He swallowed. "Civilians. Women, children, old people. We're under orders."

"The military is killing civilians?" she said, aghast. "On purpose? How many?"

He looked at her, and his black eyes reflected horror.

"All of them."

She stared at him in disbelief. "What are you saying?"

"Order 3066," he said, his voice numb. "Total extermination of all Ishvalans."

"Why…how could they…" Her eyes grew wide. "Roy," she asked quietly, "…you've been following that order?"

He nodded slowly, looking away.

"Why?" Her voice was barely audible.

He breathed in slowly, passed his hand over his eyes. "The rebellion won't stop. It's been seven years. Amestris has lost thousands of soldiers. And now it's spreading to other regions of the country." He swallowed again. "The Führer President says this is the only way."

"Is that what you believe?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said in a whisper.

"Then walk away." She took his hands, gripped them firmly, looked into his eyes. "Roy, you need to leave the military. Right now. Come home with me."

He avoided her gaze, shook his head vehemently. "It's not that easy, Riza. I'm a State Alchemist. If I desert…they'll come after me. They'll execute us both for treason."

"Then we'll go somewhere they can't find us. We'll leave Amestris." Her voice was urgent.

He looked into her eyes, but before he had time to answer, a man's scream rang out from the other side of the clinic.


	4. Necessary Evil

Chapter 4: Necessary Evil

The scream had come from the treatment area, and it wasn't stopping. This wasn't just a patient in pain; there was a desperate, keening quality to the cries. Riza and Roy hurried towards the sound, Riza trailing more slowly because of her injury.

"—brought in two days ago from the war zone. He's been unconscious," Sara was telling Urey in an urgent voice. They were both rifling through boxes of supplies.

It was an Ishvalan patient, a man perhaps in his early 30s, lying on a cot. Bandages swaddled the top half of his face, leaving only his eyes uncovered. He was staring at his right arm—it was heavily tattooed—and shouting something in Ishvalan.

"We need sedatives!" Urey yelled to the assistants, who were also frantically searching for supplies.

"There aren't any! I think we ran out with the last patient!" the older assistant cried.

The man continued to shout, this time in Amestrian.

"A State Alchemist—" He had not seen Roy; he was staring into the empty air above his cot. A flashback, thought Riza. She remembered what Roy had told her and shuddered.

He turned his head and caught sight of both Rockbells. "Amestrians!" he bellowed. "Unforgivable!" He sat up, then grabbed a surgical knife from a nearby table. _"You—you bastards!" _he screamed, and lunged at the doctors.

From Riza's perspective, it seemed to happen in slow motion. Roy ran towards him, slid on a glove, snapped his fingers—

The man incinerated. He fell to the floor, dead. Smoke rose from what was left of his body, the air smelling of charred flesh.

The room filled with screams from the other patients, but Riza barely heard them. A living man had disappeared in front of her, replaced by a man-shaped block of charcoal. Impossible.

Everything felt unreal, dreamlike. She touched her lips. They felt greasy, as if she had been cooking over a hot stove. She turned to look at Roy. He was staring into the air, face expressionless, fists clenched.

_Order 3066. Extermination of all Ishvalans._ The words resounded in her head.

This couldn't possibly be real. It was one thing to be told that he'd used flame alchemy to kill people. It was another to see it happen in front of her. To feel the air, to smell it. To taste a man's death on her lips.

"You did this…" she heard herself say, "...to civilians."

He looked back at her with shame filling his eyes, but said nothing. What could he have said?

"How…how could you do this?" She felt as if she were speaking from very far away.

He still said nothing.

Suddenly time snapped back to its normal pace, and the reality of the situation hit her with full force.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?" she screamed.

For a moment he looked pained, as if she had struck him. Then slowly, his face hardened back into its mask.

She turned and ran, out of the clinic, blindly, oblivious to the pain stabbing at her ribs. Outside, she fell on her hands and knees and vomited. The convulsions ripped into her side, causing her more pain than she had ever felt, and it was finally too much. She howled in agony.

She slumped over on the ground, sobbing. The man she loved was a murderer. And she was the one who had put the weapon into his hands. The flame he used to kill had come from the alchemy she wore on her back, her father's alchemy, whose secrets she had entrusted to him alone. And he had done…this.

Each sob felt like a dagger thrust into her ribs, but she couldn't stop. The whole world had gone mad. Nothing would ever be sane again.

After awhile, Sara Rockbell came for her, led her back inside, and put her to bed.


	5. Final Warning

Chapter 5: Final Warning

Roy sat on a bench propped against an outside wall of the clinic, the opposite side from where Riza had fled earlier. A lone oak tree, incongruous among the scrub pines that dotted the clinic grounds, provided shade against the hot afternoon sun. He stared at his hands, wondering how he had become such a monster.

He and Urey Rockbell had buried the corpse of the Ishvalan man in the grounds behind the clinic, in a graveyard the doctors had made for the patients they couldn't save. "I'm grateful to you for saving our lives," Urey had told him. "But I wish you hadn't killed him."

Why had he killed the man? There were any number of ways he could have used his alchemy to incapacitate him. He could have removed the oxygen from the air around his head, making him pass out almost instantly. He could have burned his skin just enough to cause searing pain, not death. He could have incinerated him only from the knees down, stopping him in his tracks. But no, he had killed the man without a thought, because that was what he had been conditioned to do. Kill Ishvalans without thinking.

And yet, the man had been bent on murder. He would have killed every Amestrian in the clinic, Roy was certain. Including Riza. And he knew that if he had to do it all over, with the same outcome, he would do it again, to protect her. Even though it had made her hate him.

The military had made him into a monster for a reason. The Ishvalans were the ones who were rebelling. They would kill Amestrians indiscriminately, even innocent civilians like Riza. And the rebellion would continue to spread until the whole country was at risk. The only way to stop it was through brutal, overwhelming force, delivered by monsters like him. Even if he lost everything else in the process, it was a necessary sacrifice, to protect the country he loved. He had decided as much when he wrote her that letter. Now he needed to leave this place, return to his post, carry out his mission. Fulfill his duty.

If he believed that, why was he still sitting here? Why wouldn't his legs move?

He sat beneath the shade of the oak, listening to the Ishvalan wind blow through its leaves, and tried to answer those questions for some time.

He was still there awhile later when a truck pulled in front of the clinic entrance. Probably a delivery of food or medicine from one of the farming towns to the west, he thought. But after a few moments, he heard the driver talking to the Rockbells in urgent tones. "You've got to get out of here now. They'll be here within the hour," the man was saying.

"It's out of the question," Sara answered. "We've got two patients with spinal injuries and one with a collapsed lung, among others. We can't move them."

"And we're not leaving anyone behind," said Urey. "They're probably just trying to scare us. We'll be fine."

Roy had run to the front of the clinic where they were talking. "What are you talking about?" A growing sense of dread gnawed at him.

The driver was a short, bald elderly man with a white mustache. He gasped. "There's a solider here!"

"It's all right, Mr. Edge," Sara reassured him. "He's here with a patient. He's friendly."

"I hope that's true, for your sake." He looked doubtful, but addressed Roy. "I heard it from a farmer who delivers to the military. They're sending a platoon to shut down this clinic. They're less than an hour away, and they have a State Alchemist with them."

It was Roy's turn to gasp. He turned to the Rockbells. "You need to leave this place. _Now!_"

They were both shaking their heads stubbornly, giving him the same arguments they'd given Mr. Edge.

"Listen to me!" Roy shouted. "You need to leave this place now, or _they__ will __kill __you_. They'll kill everyone in this clinic. That's why they're sending a State Alchemist. It's the only thing they use us for." The doctors stared at him in shock.

If his words alone didn't convince them, he hoped the look in his eyes would. "You have no idea of the lengths the military will go to. _You __are __not __safe __here._"

For a long moment, no one spoke, the air filled with shocked silence.

"Then you need to protect us."

It was Riza, standing in the clinic doorway. How long had she been listening? Her eyelids were red and swollen, but she was no longer crying. Her gaze was fixed on Roy, her eyes showing the same fire he had always known.

"You wanted to protect Amestris. Now's your chance. We _are_ Amestris, Roy. The people. Not the military."

He stared at her. What was she saying? That he should turn against the military? Betray the oath he had taken? He couldn't do that...

And yet, what was the alternative? He could take Riza and go, but what about these other people? Could he really leave them here to be killed?

"Protect us," she repeated. "You're strong enough to do it. You're the only one who can."

He closed his eyes. The world was spinning beneath him. He felt as if no longer knew right from wrong, truth from lies. All of the terrible deeds he had performed for the military, all the killings, all the burnings, flashed before his eyes. People just like these. His duty, for the sake of the country. Was it really necessary? Was it really justified?

It had all seemed so clear at the front. No one liked the orders, but no one disobeyed them. No one questioned. The war had to be won. The enemy was an abstract concept. But here, back in the real world, surrounded by real people, he could no longer deny how monstrous his deeds had been. How evil.

He did not want to go back. He did not want to be responsible for the death of one more innocent person. Including the people at this clinic.

He opened his eyes. His gaze locked onto Riza, framed in the doorway. "All right," he said. "I'll do it. I'll protect all of you."


	6. Defense Installations

Chapter 6: Defense Installations

Now it was Riza's turn to sit on the bench outside the clinic, while she watched Roy prepare. The platoon would have twelve soldiers, he had said, in addition to the State Alchemist. The most effective way to counter their numbers would be by attacking them from above. He was using alchemy to construct an observation platform in the branches of the oak tree.

He had wanted her to leave with Mr. Edge, but she had refused. Instead, the elderly man had driven away with a heavily pregnant woman and two small children. Another six of the least-injured patients had left in the truck Roy had borrowed. They would take their chances on the road, heading for the hills surrounding East City, where encampments of Ishvalan refugees were rumored to have sprung up. That left ten Ishvalan patients, the doctors and their two assistants, plus Roy and herself.

Inside the clinic, the Rockbells were making their own preparations, moving patients and supplies to the center of the building where they would be safest. Riza had offered to help, but Sara had ordered her to get some rest. "If you refuse to lay down, at least go sit somewhere," she had snapped in exasperation. While neither of the doctors displayed any outward fear, the strain was showing on both of them.

So Riza did as she was told and sat on the bench, while a hundred unnamable emotions roiled through her mind. Would Roy be able to protect them? Would he really turn on the military? Would that be enough to redeem him from the terrible things he'd done? And could she still love him, knowing those things?

She watched as he used a stick to carve a transmutation circle into the dirt, then knelt with his hands pressed onto it. Concentration showed on his face as the tree trunk began to glow, and the observation platform began to form.

To distract herself, she thought about alchemy. In her mind she traced the lines and symbols of the circle, the construction formula for the wood, the helix shape of the staircase as he formed it out of the tree trunk. Then she shook it away. It was an old habit, but a useless one. She was no alchemist.

It had been her father's greatest disappointment. From the age of seven—she had been a bright child—he had drilled her in the basics of the art, so thoroughly that she still remembered them all. He couldn't understand how a child who understood alchemical principles so well could be incapable of performing even one transmutation. He continued trying to teach her for years, finally giving up when she turned twelve.

Although she had tried her hardest, for Riza, it was just as well. Alchemy had been the most important thing in her father's life, more important than his relationship with his daughter. The degree of his obsession had been frightening to her, and had driven a wedge between them for as long as she could remember.

But by the time she was fifteen, her father had thought of a new way to involve her in his life's work. He had invented flame alchemy, a technique so powerful that he was unwilling to teach it to anyone, or even to commit it to paper, for fear that it would fall into the wrong hands. Instead, he proposed tattooing a coded array onto her back, turning her into a living manuscript who would guard his secrets for life. She could choose to withhold those secrets, or bestow them on another if there was someone she judged worthy.

It was an insane request. The tattooing process would require countless months of painful work with ink and needle, and she would have to spend the rest of her life with the ugly image on her back, hiding it from strangers. She had wanted no part of it. But she had agreed to it anyway, because she understood that this was the only meaningful thing he was capable of sharing with her. He was her father, and she loved him in spite of everything.

He had died only a year after the array was completed, and the last word he spoke was Riza's name. She had been glad, then, that she had agreed to his request.

In time, she had fallen in love with Roy. He was a good man, idealistic and noble. And as her father's former student, it seemed only right for him to inherit the secrets of flame alchemy. Even though he was a soldier. Even though she knew there was a risk of his power being misused by the military. She was young and in love, and she had believed he would never let that happen.

It was just as well that her father wasn't alive to see what a mess they'd made of his legacy.

Roy was done with his observation platform. He had climbed up into it and was surveying the terrain from the camouflage of the tree branches. Besides the staircase, it consisted of little more than a floor and a waist-high wall. To Riza's eyes, it looked like a child's treehouse.

She watched him put on the gloves he used to create his flame. They were made of a material that created sparks when he snapped his fingers, stitched with transmutation circles that enabled him to manipulate the air around the sparks to create combustion. There was nothing further he had to do to prepare. Just as she was a living manuscript, he was a living weapon.

"You should go now, Riza. They'll be here soon." They were almost the first words he had spoken to her since he had agreed to her plea to protect them.

There was no reason to linger, so she stood. "Good luck, Roy. Thank you." He looked down at her, and their eyes met.

"I love you," he said. "And…I'm sorry. For everything."

"I love you, too," she responded with a faint smile. And in spite of everything, she meant it.


	7. The Element of Surprise

Chapter 7: The Element of Surprise

Roy waited anxiously in the observation platform. His position was on the south side of the clinic. The platoon would come by road, from the west.

He tried not to think about the fact that he was preparing to attack his own comrades. Targets, they were just targets. If he could kill civilians, he could kill Amestrian soldiers. With far more justification.

There wasn't much to the plan. The doctors would barricade themselves inside the building with the bedridden patients, while anyone who was physically able to do so would hide among the trees surrounding the clinic. Hiding places were scant. Their scrap of scrub forest extended only about 50 yards to the east before the terrain broke into grassland, followed by desert; and in every other direction lay miles of flat, arid farmland. If Roy wasn't able to stop the military, there would be nowhere to run.

He hoped Riza had at least tried to hide properly, but chances were good that she was still nearby, watching over him. He sighed at the thought. She was extremely stubborn.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Did the military know he was here? Unlikely. The only ones who knew of his connection to this place were the captain and lieutenant who had delivered Riza's message. Roy had bribed both men for their silence and the use of their vehicle, which would get them into considerable trouble if they were found out. And since his next shift didn't start for another five hours, the only person likely to have noticed his absence thus far was his friend Hughes, who had no reason to tell anyone.

So why were they sending a State Alchemist, when the platoon alone would be more than sufficient to kill everyone here? More importantly, who would they send? There were only a handful of alchemists deployed at the front, fewer now than there had been. Old Man Comanche had gotten his leg blown off on the battlefield and been sent home. Armstrong was in a military hospital recovering from combat shock. Marcoh was engaged in some kind of top secret research, so he rarely left the lab. That left three possibilities.

Basque Grand was a formidable hand-to-hand combatant whose specialty was moving metal and stone. His transmutation range was comparable to Roy's, about 40 yards maximum. He moved considerably faster than expected for a man of his size, but the density of the materials he transmuted made them slower than Roy's flame and air. Although it might be difficult, he was confident that he could beat Grand, even in a fair fight.

McDougal was more worrisome. His range was also similar to Roy's, but he worked with water, which could effectively negate Roy's flame. Roy would likely need the element of surprise in order to defeat him. Failing that, he knew that McDougal was deeply ambivalent about the military's activities in Ishval. It might be possible to appeal to his conscience and convince him to spare the clinic.

Lastly, there was Kimblee, the greatest threat. He worked with explosions, and his range was incredible—Roy had seen him detonate objects as far as 100 yards away. Among the other State Alchemists, he was the only one whose destructive power exceeded that of Roy's flame alchemy, and by a considerable degree. He was also a sociopath; there would be no appealing to Kimblee's nonexistent conscience. Unless the element of surprise was total, Roy wouldn't stand a chance against him.

He heard the rumble of vehicles on the road. His breath caught. They were here.

There were two trucks, a larger one for transporting troops, and a small light-duty vehicle like the one Roy had borrowed from the captain. The large truck rumbled to a stop in front of the clinic, about 40 yards away from where he stood concealed in the tree. Soldiers began to pour out of it and assemble into formation. The smaller one parked at a more cautious distance, about 70 yards away. That would be the State Alchemist. _Please__ let __it __be __Grand_, he thought._ Or __at__ least__ McDougal._

The passenger door of the small truck opened, and a figure stepped out. It was Kimblee.

The blood drained from Roy's face as he uttered a string of silent curses. If he were spotted, the fight would be over in an instant. Kimblee had two halves of a powerful transmutation circle tattooed on his palms, which he would activate by bringing his hands together. Detonating a target at this distance would present no challenge.

The driver and another solider climbed out of the vehicle after him. "Come now, men, let's not keep the good doctors waiting," said the alchemist, gesturing to them with a theatrical flourish. "They've stuck to their duty 'til the bitter end. The least we can do is be punctual in ours." He strode toward the clinic, the two men trailing more slowly.

Now Roy understood why Kimblee was there. The soldiers, conditioned as they were, probably wouldn't hesitate to kill a clinic full of wounded Ishvalans, but they might balk at killing Amestrian doctors. Kimblee, on the other hand, would do the job with a smile. The military hadn't needed an alchemist for this job. They'd needed a sociopath.

Kimblee was 65 yards away. 60. 55. Keep moving.

The first soldiers had reached the clinic door, were trying to open it. "It's locked, sir," one of the men called to the alchemist. 50 yards. 45. Still just out of reach.

"Then someone must have tipped them off." Kimblee halted, began to scan the surroundings, one hand shading his eyes. Roy stopped breathing.

Kimblee turned his head toward the oak tree. "There!" he shouted, moved to clap his hands together—

Roy snapped his fingers, directing the most powerful burst of flame he could muster as far as he could in Kimblee's direction—

And Kimblee exploded in a fireball, along with the four soldiers nearest to him. His hands had never touched. Roy had done it.

There was no time for relief. The eight remaining soldiers had fanned out—in the trees, behind the transport truck, around the west side of the clinic—and all of them were firing at him.


	8. Firefight

Chapter 8: Firefight

Roy took cover behind the observation platform wall as bullets sprayed around him. Eight soldiers. He would need to pinpoint their locations from the direction of fire, if he could do it without getting shot in the process.

A bullet whistled over his head. From a clump of pines to the west, 11:00 position. He snapped his fingers, and the solider was dead.

Two more at 1:00. Snap. A tree went up in flames with the men, but he quickly manipulated the air to extinguish it. He couldn't risk letting the fire spread to the trees toward the east, where Riza and the other patients were hiding.

Two were firing from behind the transport truck. Snap. They were at the extreme edge of his transmutation range, and he only hit one of them. The other man panicked, tried to run for cover behind the clinic. Big mistake. Snap.

Three left. Two had already made it behind the clinic. Standard military tactics: they would use the building as cover, move around behind it and try to shoot him from the southeast corner. Roy turned—

Impact slammed into his right shoulder, threw him up against the tree trunk. He'd been shot. He snapped as the soldier ducked back behind the building. He hit the man at an angle, sending his rifle flying, burning just his head and half his torso. It was enough.

More bullets hit the tree trunk next to him, this time from the southwest corner of the clinic. The two had split up—smart. Roy was bleeding, had no time to waste. Snap. He took out the whole corner of the building along with the man, then quickly extinguished the flames.

One left. Where had the last man gone? He scanned the trees frantically. Had he made it behind the clinic? Behind the truck? Had he already escaped—

A shot rang out behind him.

He whipped around in time to see the last soldier crumple to the ground. The man had been directly in back of him. Fifty feet away, near the southeast corner of the clinic, stood Riza, holding the rifle that the half-burned man had dropped. Smoke curled out of the barrel. She slipped to her knees, clutching her broken ribs with one hand.

Somehow the soldier had gotten behind him. He'd had a clear line of fire; if he had gotten a shot off, Roy would have been dead before he ever knew the man was there. Riza had saved his life.

As he ran down the steps of the observation platform toward her, it occurred to him that the recoil from that rifle must have really hurt. And that it had been a hell of a shot for someone who had never picked up a gun before. But most of him was focused on the look in her eyes, which were staring wide in horror at the empty air. He knew she was seeing the moment that the man had died, reliving it over and over, as her mind tried to make sense of what had happened. It had been that way for him too, the first time he had killed an enemy.

"Riza," he said as he dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She touched his wound, seeming dazed. "You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine. It's just a scratch." It was considerably more than a scratch, but he would worry about that later.

Her eyes travelled from the smoking corpses that circled the clinic, to the body of the soldier she had killed, then to the gun still shaking in her hand. She turned back to look in his eyes. "Is this how it started for you?" she whispered.

He wanted to tell her no, that his first kill had been nothing like this. That the first step down his twisted path hadn't begun on the battlefield, killing an enemy solider to save a comrade. That she could never have even the smallest thing in common with a murderer like him. But her gaze was searching his, and he knew that she wanted, and deserved, the truth.

"Yes," he said softly. "This is exactly how it started."

She burst into tears, and he did the only thing he could do, which was to put his arms around her.

He was dimly aware that the Rockbells had emerged from the clinic, and were surveying the burned bodies sadly. That the Ishvalan patients had begun to emerge from the woods, and that some of them were cheering. And that his shoulder badly needed medical attention. But none of that mattered. He only knew that the woman he loved was sobbing in his arms, her heart broken, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.


	9. Scavenged Weapons

Chapter 9: Scavenged Weapons

Urey had a job to do. If he focused on the work in front of him, he could ignore the sick feeling rising in his throat, ignore the fact that he and his wife had almost lost their lives twice today. That the Amestrian military wanted them and their patients dead. That they still had wounded who couldn't be moved, whom they couldn't abandon. He knew that Sara, busy rechecking the injuries of the patients who had been hiding outside, was doing the same.

He could also pretend that the quiet young man in front of him wasn't a killer who incinerated people with a snap of his fingers. Who had burned thirteen people to death in front of them today, and God knew how many before that. No, right now he was just a patient who'd needed surgery for a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and who Urey had just finished stitching up.

He helped Roy put his white shirt back on, torn and bloody as it was. "It's just a flesh wound, so it shouldn't affect the use of your arm. But you should try to keep it still—" He wasn't even finished speaking before his patient had stood up and headed for the door.

"We don't have time for that," Roy said over his shoulder as he stepped outside.

Urey threw up his hands at Sara. "They're a matched pair!" he grumbled. She looked up from the patient she was rebandaging and smiled in sympathy. She had put Riza to bed again (how many times was this now? four?), but by some miracle, the girl had finally stayed this time.

He followed Roy out the door. The alchemist was kneeling by the largest group of burned bodies, picking up and examining the guns that they had dropped. "We should take as many weapons as we can," he said, sorting them into two piles. "Some of the sidearms had their slides fused by the flame, but we can still use the clips. I'll give one of the smaller-caliber models to Riza. Less recoil." He was talking to himself as much as the doctor. To Urey, who knew nothing about guns, he might as well have been speaking Xerxian.

"You're going to arm my patients?" asked the doctor. "As a precaution," Roy answered. "There's enough room in the platoon's vehicles to evacuate everyone, but we might encounter patrols on the road."

"We can't leave," said Urey. "Not all of us. We still have people who can't be moved."

"You'll have to move them," said Roy. "When these soldiers don't report back, more will follow, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold them off. Especially like this." He gestured toward his bandaged shoulder.

Urey shook his head emphatically. "I'm not moving patients in their condition. And I'm not leaving them behind."

"Then you'll die here," Roy said flatly. Finished sorting the guns, he picked up a stick and began drawing an alchemical circle in the dirt. "I'm sorry. There's only so much I can do. I'm getting Riza out of here, and whoever else I can."

The alchemist placed his hands on the circle and concentrated for a few moments. The ground began to glow. A large hole opened up beside the bodies, loose dirt piling up beside it. "Easier to bury them this way," he explained, and began pushing the burned corpses into the hole.

At a loss for what else to do, Urey moved to help. As with the man who had attacked them earlier in the day, the bodies were impossibly lightweight, probably because all the liquid had been boiled away. The sick feeling rose in his throat again, but he pushed it down.

He watched Roy pause before one of the bodies, presumably that of the State Alchemist. "So long, sociopath," the younger man muttered before giving the corpse a violent shove into the hole. "You were the worst of us all."

Something red glimmered in the dirt where the body had lain. Roy picked it up, held it up in the sun to examine it. It appeared to be a crystal of some kind. Suddenly his eyes grew wide, and he gasped.

"It can't be. That's impossible…it _can't _be...but…" He leapt to his feet.

He sprinted over to where two more bodies lay next to a burned tree, as Urey hurried after him. His words were coming out in excited bursts. "Kimblee was the most powerful State Alchemist on the battlefield. Ridiculously powerful. No one knew how he did it." He knelt on the ground and scratched out another circle.

"This is a test," he continued. "Living things are difficult to transmute. Even plants. It takes a specialized set of skills, and very few alchemists are good at it. I'm not one of them." He pressed his hands to the circle, still holding the crystal. A red glow spread from the circle, up the trunk of the blackened tree. As Urey watched, the tree slowly came back to life, new leaves bursting forth from its branches.

Nearly frantic with excitement now, Roy drew a new circle on the ground, then tore off his shirt and began unwrapping the bandages from his shoulder. "Wait a minute—" Urey protested, but Roy ignored him. He repeated the alchemical process, but this time the glow spread to the stitched-up wound on his shoulder.

When the light faded, both the wound and the stitching were gone. It was as if he had never been shot. Urey gasped, speechless.

Roy grinned. "Dr. Rockbell, I think I have a way to get all your patients out of here." He held the crystal in his outstretched palm. "This was Kimblee's secret. He had a Philosopher's Stone."


	10. Recovery

Chapter 10: Recovery

"If he gets her out of bed again, I will throttle him," said Sara to no one in particular. Roy had burst in and run to where Riza was resting, and was talking excitedly and pointing to his shoulder. So far she was only sitting up on her cot. Her eyes were still red from crying, but she was calm.

"Don't throttle him yet, Sara." Urey had rushed in behind him, out of breath. "You've got to see this." He grabbed her hand and tugged her over to Riza's cot.

Riza was shaking her head in disbelief. "You're telling me, not only that it exists at all—but that it's here, now?"

"Feel it." Roy pressed something red into her palm. "I sensed its power as soon as I touched it. I think you will too." After a moment her eyes grew wide, and she thrust it back into his hand.

"I don't like it, Roy. Even if it is what you say, we don't know where it came from, or what kind of power it is."

"I know," he said, running his fingers through his black hair. "I don't like it either. But right now we don't have a choice." He looked over at Urey, who nodded, then back to Riza. "Do you trust me, Riza? Will you let me heal you?"

"Wait a minute!" protested Sara.

"Hold on," Urey answered. "Just watch."

After a moment's hesitation, Riza nodded. Roy pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew an alchemical circle on the floor. Then he gently lifted her sweater just enough to expose her injured ribs. He touched the circle, and a red glow spread to her side.

When it was finished, Riza's eyes grew wide again, and she took a very deep breath. "The pain's gone!" she exclaimed, and began tearing off the tape. Roy grinned. When she was done, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell's going on?" demanded Sara.

* * *

><p>From there, it was only a matter of convincing the Ishvalan patients to allow themselves to be healed. Alchemy had long been taboo within the Ishvalan religion. It was well-known that the Amestrians had used it to murder Ishvalans, and they had all watched Roy use it to kill one of their own kind, the man who had attacked the Rockbells. But they had also seen him use it to protect them from the Amestrian military, with a much higher body count, which had earned him a measure of their trust. And the threat of additional troops attacking the clinic was very real. In the end, no one refused.<p>

While Roy made the rounds of the patients, with Sara providing medical guidance and the older assistant acting as an interpreter, Riza helped the younger assistant pack up food and medical supplies for the journey ahead. Plans had been made: The Ishvalans would find a refugee encampment, or start one of their own, in the hills outside East City. The Rockbells would return to their home in Resembool. Riza and Roy were invited to come with them if they needed a place to stay.

Meanwhile, Urey recruited a few of the newly-healed patients to help him finish burying the bodies. The volunteers were only too happy to bury the remains of the Amestrian soldiers, which were consigned to the ground together with a large quantity of Ishvalan spit.

* * *

><p>"We don't have much time, but this is important," said Roy, as the doctors loaded supplies and patients into the transport truck. "Let's try it before we go."<p>

"We've been through this a hundred times. You're as bad as my father," Riza sighed. They stood outside of the clinic, away from where the bodies had been buried, in the last rays of the setting sun. "I can't perform transmutation."

"I know it's never worked before. But you understand the theory so well—please, just try one more time." He held up the Philosopher's Stone. "I think you'll be able to do it with this."

She hesitated, frowned, then reluctantly took it from him. He knelt on the ground and scratched out a transmutation circle. "Earth is easiest," he said. "See if you can raise a hill in the ground. With the Philosopher's Stone, you won't even have to worry about equivalent exchange."

After a few more moments' reluctance, she knelt down beside him and placed her hands on the circle, touching the stone to it. She closed her eyes, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

"Remember the three phases," he lectured smoothly. "Comprehension of the physical properties of the soil, deconstruction—"

"Shhh," she said, annoyed. "I know what the three phases are."

He chuckled, and after that he stayed quiet, watching her concentrate. For a few long minutes, nothing happened. Then very slowly, a dim red glow began to emerge from the circle. Slowly, it spread to the ground next to the circle, and gradually began to brighten. The ground began to move beneath the glow, began to rise…

Then a mountain of dirt erupted from the ground amid a burst of bright red light. Ten feet high, twenty, widening at the base until it raised the ground under the transmutation circle itself, breaking the symbols and halting the reaction, and stopping just shy of knocking over both alchemists.

They both stared up at the mountain, laughing in amazement, Riza a little out of breath from the effort. "It—it really worked!" she exclaimed. "You did it!" grinned Roy, pulling her into his arms and kissing her cheek. "I always believed you could."

She turned and kissed him properly, on the lips. Then she handed the stone back to him. "I'm going to try again without that," she said. She drew a new circle and repeated the process. Her second hill was considerably smaller and slower-forming, but she performed a complete transmutation.

"I really did it!" she grinned, gazing at the little hill with pride and wonder in her voice. "After all those years…and it's not even that hard."

"You did great, Riza," Roy congratulated her. "I've wanted this for you for so long." He hugged her again, grinning. After a moment, he added, "Now, whatever happens, you'll at least have alchemy."

She pulled away and looked at him curiously. "What do you mean, 'whatever happens'?"

He put his hand up to stroke her cheek, looked into her eyes sadly. "Riza, I'm not going to Resembool with you."

Her smile faded. "Why not?" she asked softly.

He opened his hand, looked down at the Philosopher's Stone. "Because it's time for the Ishvalan War to end."


	11. The Front Line

Chapter 11: The Front Line

As night fell, Roy drove back to the Ishvalan front in Kimblee's vehicle, its ID plates transmuted to match those of the identical truck he had borrowed from the captain.

He had done everything he could think of to cover their tracks: removed the observation platform from the oak tree, smoothed over the soldiers' mass grave, flattened Riza's practice hills. Then he had crumbled the clinic itself into dust, and sent grass and new trees growing over the whole site. Evidence of alchemy was still there if one looked closely; transmutation always left telltale surface patterns. But it would be enough to slow down the military's search.

He had also changed the ID plates on the transport truck, and transmuted military uniforms for the three Amestrians. They travelled now with forged military papers authorizing transport of a dozen Ishvalan prisoners, destination classified, by order of Dr. Marcoh. It should be enough to fool any patrols. Failing that, both the "soldiers" and "prisoners" were well-armed.

The last thing he had done for Riza was to give her one of his gloves, the right-hand one from a spare pair he always kept with him. "You know the theory of flame alchemy. With practice, you should be able to learn to use it," he had told her. The glove was too big for her hand, but she slipped it on, and kissed him tenderly. He had been afraid there would be a battle when he told her he was leaving, but she had let him go without a fight. While deeply saddened and anxious for his safety, she understood what was at stake in Ishval.

Settling things with the military would serve a second purpose. Command knew the Rockbells' names, and it wouldn't take much effort to trace them and Riza back to Resembool. If any of them were going to be safe, he needed to end this tonight.

* * *

><p>He returned the truck to the captain without incident, and began to thread his way on foot past the supply tents, toward Command headquarters. Führer President Bradley had commandeered the largest building in the occupied Sundara district, formerly a huge temple to the god Ishvala, for the military's use. His strategy meetings with top level staff were held in the temple's main hall, and often lasted into the night.<p>

"Flame Alchemist." He heard a gravelly voice from behind him. It was McDougal. "Command is looking for you. Where have you been?"

Roy turned to face the second alchemist, a beefy man with a lined face and black hair tied in a ponytail, metal gauntlets inscribed with transmutation circles covering his arms. "I got sick of this place, and went to see a woman," Roy offered casually. "I was about to report back in."

"Without permission? That's not like you." McDougal squinted at him suspiciously. "And Kimblee is missing. With a platoon. Do you know anything about that?"

Roy shrugged. "First I've heard of it." He walked on, adding over his shoulder, "Maybe he's using them for detonation practice. It's Kimblee, after all."

He felt the second alchemist continued to eye him as he walked away. Should he kill McDougal, or try to reason with him? He couldn't do either yet; not here, out in the open. Better to move against Command first, then see how McDougal reacted.

The guards at the entrance to the temple recognized Roy and saluted him through. So far, so good. At this hour, there were no other personnel in the corridors. Already wearing his gloves, he had made it almost all the way to the main hall when he turned a corner and encountered Basque Grand.

"Flame Alchemist! You have been absent without permission—explain yourself!" snapped Grand. As a colonel, he outranked Roy and the other State Alchemists, and served as their commanding officer. He was alone.

"My apologies, Colonel! It won't happen again," Roy declared with a salute, as he drained the oxygen from around Grand's head. He watched impassively as the man struggled for air, clutching his throat, his face turning red, then blue. Roy was good at this technique, because Grand had made him practice it, over and over, on Ishvalan prisoners. He hoped the Colonel appreciated the irony as he watched him topple to the floor.

When it was over, he stuffed Grand's considerable bulk into an unlit corner under a staircase, and continued down the corridor leading to the main hall. As expected, Bradley was holding one of his late-night meetings with senior command staff, evidenced by the two guards flanked outside the closed front door.

Roy dispensed with the guards, quickly and quietly, with the same technique he had used on Grand. Flattening himself against the wall, he eased the door open a crack and peered through it unnoticed. Inside the main hall, the altar and worshippers' benches had been smashed and piled against the walls to make way for an imposingly large conference table, around which sat Bradley and his twelve top generals. He could hear the Führer President's booming voice issuing orders to speed up the annihilation of the Kanda district.

The main hall was huge, but enhancing his abilities with the Philosopher's Stone, Roy worked quickly to raise the oxygen content to maximum. 30 seconds…45…60…A general who was speaking about weapon supply logistics began to stammer, as if he were growing dizzy. From the corridor, Roy snapped his fingers, and the whole interior of the huge room burst into flame. He slammed the door, hearing the creak of the metal hinges and lock as they were fused shut by the intense heat.

He realized he'd been holding his breath, and finally let it out. He had done it. The Führer President and all of his generals were dead—

The door to the main hall splintered into pieces from the inside. Roy stared in horror as Bradley burst out of the door, singed but very much alive, brandishing his sword. His eye patch was missing. The left eyeball was almost completely white, save for what looked like a red tattoo of an ouroboros. "What—" Roy started, but the older man lunged at him with the sword, which he barely managed to dodge.

"Did you really think a brat like you could kill _me?_ Insolent human trash!" roared Bradley. Roy snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He looked down and saw that the backs of both gloves were in shreds, the transmutation circles destroyed. He hadn't dodged the attack at all, he just hadn't seen or felt it—what the hell was Bradley?

"How did you survive my attack?" demanded Roy, playing for time. He still had one spare glove, if he could get it onto his hand without being spotted.

Bradley smirked. "My eye shows me everything. You raised the oxygen content in the air, but you didn't do it uniformly. The air has currents. I could see exactly where to run to get around the flames."

No chance of getting the glove on unseen, then. Roy swallowed. "You really aren't human, are you?"

"Don't insult me," said Bradley. There was a blur of motion, and the older man's sword had skewered first one of Roy's arms, then the other, then each of his legs. A final thrust through his abdomen pinned the alchemist to the wall. He hung there helplessly, limp and in shock.

The older man regarded Roy with a contemptuous look. "What a pity. You had promise, Flame Alchemist. Now we'll have to find another potential human sacrifi—" Bradley's words were cut off abruptly as an icicle burst through his left eye. What—McDougal?

"Dodge that, Mr. Führer President," the second alchemist laughed maniacally from the corridor, as he sent another icy missile through the older man's chest. It was positioned to pierce his heart, but somehow Bradley was still alive. He yanked his sword away, leaving Roy to fall to the floor, and lunged in a blur that ended with him skewering McDougal.

In one motion, Roy pulled the last glove out of his pocket and slid it on his left hand, then snapped his fingers and incinerated Bradley.

Incredibly, the charred figure not only remained standing, but still moved. Bradley turned and raised his sword toward Roy—why was he still not dead?—then abruptly fell to the floor. He didn't move again.

"Ow," said McDougal, leaning against the wall. He had been stabbed through the ribs. "I didn't even see him come at me until he was already there. What the hell was he?"

"I don't know," gasped Roy. "Why did you help me?"

McDougal shook his head. "Because that rotten bastard had it coming. He's turned us all into monsters." He gestured toward the burnt remains of the main hall. "You had the balls to do what I should have done a long time ago. What we all should have done."

Roy nodded. "Grand and Kimblee are dead too," he said. "Good," smiled McDougal.

There was commotion down the next corridor, headed their way. The flames and combat had attracted attention. "Get out of here," said McDougal. He straightened and stood facing the direction of the voices. "Get yourself patched up. I'll take care of this."

"Thanks," said Roy. He struggled to his feet. "But there's one State Alchemist left. I'm going to visit Marcoh's lab. I want to know what he's been doing there."

"Don't bother," said McDougal over his shoulder. "Marcoh deserted a week ago. The brass kept it quiet. Whatever he was researching, he took it with him." _Philosopher's Stones_, thought Roy. _It has to be._

McDougal laughed to himself. "Even Marcoh had more balls than me. Guess I'll have to make up for it now." He flexed his arms, awaiting the approaching soldiers. "Go."

Roy was losing a lot of blood. He did as McDougal suggested.


	12. Resistance

Chapter12: Resistance

Riza flipped curiously through the pages of the book Sara had given her. The diagrams were unmistakably alchemical, but she didn't recognize most of the symbols. The text, half in Ishvalan and half Xingese, was no help. It had been the sole possession left behind by the man who had attacked the doctors, which no one else had claimed.

She set the strange book aside. Perhaps someday she would have it translated, but today, there were other books that were much more useful. She pulled another volume off the stack next to her (_Atalanta__ Fugiens:__The__ Alchemical__ Book__ of __Emblems_) and began to read.

She had a lot of ground to make up. It pained her to think of all the years of wasted potential, her ability to use alchemy blocked—by what? The fear and anger she felt toward her father and his obsession? Perhaps she would never know. But there was no sense in dwelling on the past. She had work to do.

Her reading was interrupted by a groan from the sleeping figure in the bed next to her chair.

Roy snapped open his eyes and sat up abruptly, then grunted in pain and clutched his abdomen. His eyes darted frantically. "What—where—"

"It's OK! You're safe," she said. His eyes found Riza's, and he relaxed.

She moved over to sit on edge of his bed, and put her arms around him, squeezing as hard as she could without disturbing his abdominal wound. "Welcome back," she smiled warmly. "You had me worried." He returned her smile, circling her in his own arms and holding her tightly. "What happened?" he asked. "Where are we?"

"At the Rockbells' house in Resembool. We're hiding in the basement, in case anyone followed you." She leaned back from the embrace. The room was dimly lit, the flicker of three oil lamps on the table next to the bed providing the only light. "I don't know what happened to you. You made it as far as the train station, then passed out. A farmer found you lying on the ground last night and brought you here."

He gingerly examined his abdomen, which was laced with surgical stitching. Riza continued, "You didn't have any visible wounds, but your liver was badly damaged. Sara and Urey fixed you up. They think you got injured and tried to heal yourself with the Philosopher's Stone, but you didn't do it properly."

"Yeah. Livers are complicated." He put a hand behind his head sheepishly. "I remember now. I got stabbed. I thought I healed it, but the pain wouldn't stop. I was just hoping I would get here in time."

He took her hands in his, looked into her eyes. "But I did it, Riza! I killed the Führer President and all his generals. And I got away clean. Now the war will have to stop, and we should be safe…" He trailed off as he saw her expression. She was shaking her head, her forehead creased.

"You need to see today's paper." She picked up a newspaper from the floor next to her chair, pointing to the front-page article. The headline read FÜHRER PRESIDENT ANNOUNCES VICTORY IN ISHVAL. The war was indeed over. But below the words was a photo of Bradley making a speech to a crowd in front of Central Command.

It was Roy 's turn to shake his head. "That can't be him. I burned him to a cinder. That's either an old photo, or an imposter."

"The speech was on the radio this morning. It was Bradley's voice. If it was an imposter, he was awfully good."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Well, I suppose anything's possible at this point." He hesitated. "Riza, I know this is going to sound crazy, but—I don't think Bradley was human. The way he moved, the things he did. And he _said_ he wasn't. He called me 'insolent human trash.'"

She was eying him skeptically. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"I'm sure." He was serious.

She mulled over his words. "Well, all right. I suppose if I hadn't seen the Philosopher's Stone for myself, that would sound equally crazy." She frowned. "So if what you say is true, and he wasn't human…then what was he?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Right before he stabbed me, he said something like, 'now we'll have to find another human sacrifice.' I think that means there's more than one of whatever he was. And that there's more going on than just the Ishvalan War. Something bigger."

She nodded. "OK. Whatever you're going to do, I'm in."

"No! I'm not involving you in this any further, Riza. I don't want to put you in any more danger, or in a position where you might have to kill someone again—"

"That's for me to decide, Roy. It's my life to risk. And Amestris is my country too."

He opened his mouth to protest further, then closed it again. She was aiming her level gaze at him, fire in her eyes, arms folded stubbornly. He sighed, smart enough to recognize a losing battle when he saw one.

"All right," he conceded. "But if we're going to investigate the military, we're going to need some more help. There was another alchemist who helped me fight Bradley, named McDougal. I wouldn't have made it out of there without his help. I need to find him again.

"There are a couple of others who might help too. There's an alchemist named Dr. Marcoh, who deserted—he may be the one who made the Philosopher's Stone. And one named Armstrong, who was so horrified by what we were doing in Ishval that he had a nervous breakdown. They shipped him back to Central." He was thinking out loud. "Oh, and Hughes! He's not an alchemist, but Hughes will definitely help. Maybe he can get us intel from the inside."

"Sounds like you've got the beginnings of a resistance movement," she said. "I'd better catch up with my alchemy, then, if I'm going to be any use."

He eyed the stack of books next the bed. "Looks like you're already at it. Where'd you get all these?"

"There was an alchemist who lived around here a few years ago. His family lent me the books. There are two sons who are alchemists too. Both really young, but absolute prodigies."

Roy chuckled. "Maybe we can recruit them." Riza smiled. She hoped he was joking.

Now he was surveying the rest of the dim basement room. She saw his eyes trace the staircase leading up to the main part of the house, which ended in a blank wall instead of a door. "I transmuted that," she said shyly. "Just in case the military came looking for you. I only put the door back in when someone needs to come in or out."

"Nice work," he said admiringly. He put his arms around her and kissed her, a long, slow, ardent kiss that she happily returned.

After a few minutes, she pulled away with a grin. "Let me show you what else I can do." She reached over to one of the oil lamps, and carefully extinguished the wick. Then she took the glove he had given her out of her pocket and put it on. It fit her hand perfectly now; the young alchemists' mother, who was handy with a sewing kit, had altered it for her.

She concentrated on the lamp for a few long moments, then snapped her fingers. The tiny flame leapt back to life. She grinned. "That's the biggest flame I can make right now, but I'm working on it."

He grinned back, genuinely impressed. "If you can do that much in just a few days, you're going to make a _magnificent_ flame alchemist."

He took her in his arms and kissed her again, slowly and tenderly. Afterward, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I missed you so much," he said softly. "When I wrote that letter…I really thought it was the right thing to do, for your sake. But it almost killed me."

"Idiot," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.

"If you hadn't come to find me, I don't know what would have happened. What I would have become." He buried a shudder in her shoulder.

She stroked his back. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're on the right path now, and we're together."

He nodded, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "I don't know what's happening anymore, Riza," he said. "I don't know what this country is becoming, or why, or if I can stop it. And I'll never be able to make up for the terrible things I've done. But I promise you this: whatever happens, I will never leave you again."

"Good," she smiled, warm in the shelter of his arms. "I'm holding you to that. No matter what."

_end_

* * *

><p><em>Notes: I tried to leave them in a place where they could still eventually manage to survive the Promised Day in this alternate universe. They've lost Scar, direct access to the military, and Riza's sniper training, but they've gained McDougal, a Philosopher's Stone, and a second flame alchemist, plus they've already gotten Wrath and Kimblee out of the way. So I think they'll be fine.<em>

_Thank you so much to everybody who read and left reviews, and for your kind comments. Especially Katsumi Hatake – I looked forward to reading your posts every day! :)_


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